


Take the Sky

by troiing



Category: Firefly, Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, New Starts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Serenity, Zoe leaves the crew out of rage and grief, starting a one-woman war on Reavers and what remains of the Alliance alike.  It's a death-wish really, and soon she finds herself captured and traded away.  But aboard the starship Sanctuary, she's offered something she never expected: a second chance and a new purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Sky

The Captain’s a toss-up when it comes to reading between the lines with people, but when he asks if _Serenity_ will hold together, he also means: will _you_ hold together? And of course, she knows. And what she means when she says _Serenity_ will fly true is that, like _Serenity_ , she’ll bear these wounds, but she’ll survive. Recover. Live to fly another day.

When she says it, she fools Mal. What’s worse is, she fools herself.

Despair’s a poison, and there’s an ache in her core that doesn’t leave, like venom from the blade that didn’t do its job when, enraged, she broke ranks to die at the hands of the Reavers.

It takes a week for it to sink in enough that she cries herself to sleep, and then for a while, it’s okay. They continue their smuggling operations and, funny enough, there’s still plenty of work to be done even with the Alliance in great part dismantled. Some of the labor's more honest these days, but the pay’s still decent and they still run amok in trouble. They find themselves a new pilot, and Zoë does her best to make nice, but being anywhere near the pilot’s chair is hard. Being in her bed is hard. Being on _Serenity_ is hard. Days and weeks and months pass, and one day, she realizes that she’s been on a slow burn, humanity melting away. For a while, she feels nothing except when she’s angry, and then, when she snaps at Kaylee with such ferocity that even the Captain looks horrified, she can’t feel anything except when she’s grieving.

Once, she’d judged Mal for his little exploits. Quiet bars on Alliance-friendly planets on Unification Day, looking for reasons to start fights. Now, she’s the one who causes trouble: flares up at the smallest spark, throws punches on the basis of one wrong look, draws her gun at an ill-spoken word. Poison, crawling through her blood, her bones. Guilt comes when Jayne of all people is shot through the shoulder and it’s her fault. She confronts Mal the same day.

“Cap’n. I’ll be leavin’ _Serenity_. Next time we’re planetside.”

“Zoë.”

“I’m no good to you or anybody on this boat, and you know it.” And when he gives her that look, the one that means he’s going to say something brash, she frowns. “Ain’t ever disobeyed a direct order, Sir. Let’s you not make one I can’t follow. Keep that record clean. You can’t afford keepin’ me around anymore, and _Serenity_ just ain’t the home it once was for me.”

“There’s space on this ship if you ever wanna come back. Preferable-like that you be a little less troublesome.”

“Yes, Sir.”

But they both know she’s not coming back.

She spends her days recklessly then. Starts out putting anybody who stands in the way of folks’ wellbeing out in the Rim in his place, and doesn’t spare bullets when it comes down to it. Folks like Rance Burgess, small-time Niskas. Big-time criminals and greedy folk who make life hard for the innocents living around them. Brings justice in her own way. Waits around for Reavers to show sometimes, kills what she can. Hops the first vessel to another outer planet and does the same, all the time waiting for something or someone to get the jump on her first, shoot her in the head and make the rage and guilt and pain go away.

She kills a few Alliance folk too, if they cross her path, and that, that’s what really feels good. It’s when she starts intentionally targeting Feds and Alliance-friendly well-to-dos that she meets trouble. The Rance Burgesses of the Verse, get rid of them and their followers scatter, but the Feds still have it out for Mal Reynolds, and probably wouldn’t be opposed to taking some kind of revenge on River and Simon too, despite that they’ve done what damage they will. Small men feel good, taking control of something.

It’s not long before she’s wanted. And sure, central government has lost its sway, but they’ve still got money, and while she’s relatively safe in most of the outer planets, given all that’s passed, she still has her run-ins with resourceful Alliance-friendly folk and bounty-hunters who’ll take what they can get.

It's folks of the latter group who manage to bring her in at last, and even though she fights them, she’s glad of it. She takes a couple of them down before receiving a blow to the jaw, and when she wakes, she’s in the smallest holding area she’s ever seen.

She barely has time to recover her senses before a big, burly type fellow wanders in to nudge her with his boot.

“Up ye come,” he orders, giving her another nudge and receiving a glare in response. “Best turn the attitude off, Missy. Ye’ve got company of the dangerous sort.”

“I’m even less afeared of the Alliance than I am of you _gǒu cāo de_...”

“Uh-uh. I’d mind me manners if I was ye. Somebody wants ye real bad-like, and she ain’t no Alliance scum either.” Zoë glares at him, but she can see that he’s got no more idea who the woman in question is than she does. She’s paid up front, if they trust her. Made good threats if they don’t. Wealthy, but not Alliance. Zoe steels her jaw and arches a brow at him, resisting the urge to kick out, injure, seek escape. Whoever it is is already here, so she’s got two crews between herself and freedom and no intentions of dying under these circumstances. He shrugs. “Ain’t got no more likin’ for tha Feds than you, Missy. Ye just got a real shiny price tacked on ye’s all.” And he hefts her up, but Zoë fights him when he moves to give her a little push out the door.

“Kindly keep your hands off me. Ain’t got a notion where they been.”

“Nothin’ to where yer goin, either. You a believer? Best hope she en’t one of them crazies. Could be she is. Looks proper ‘nuff, but ye never can tell with them types.”

Given the choice, out of a mysterious buyer not affiliated with the feds, the Alliance itself, and this reeking fellow here, Zoë’s not sure who she’d choose. But her buyer's got them all scared, based on the look of the men guarding port, and then she realizes that a ship hasn’t come in to dock with her captors' - her captors have made connection with a much larger vessel. Clean, shiny, like new. Even the air smells fresher. She doesn’t need to be prodded or pushed: she walks herself along, one man in front, two behind, without a fault in her step.

Footsteps ahead give her the slightest pause, but she doesn’t get a reprimand. When a woman appears around the corner, all in leather with a fierce set to her jaw and in her pale eyes, the trio of men around her take pause too. She commands respect. Even Zoë’s taken with her. And then the woman's frown becomes a dangerously saccharine smile.

“Thank you, gentlemen. The rest of your payment.” She lowers the case she’s been carrying to the floor, kicks it off behind Zoë. “Now. Get off my ship. If you haven’t broken connection in two minutes, I’ll do it myself, airlocked or not. Time starts now.”

Zoë watches her the whole time, trying to get a feel for the woman in front of her, ignoring her captors entirely as they move back in the direction they’ve come from in a hurried scuffle. The woman arches a brow, returns the look for a moment, and then takes a step closer. Zoë stiffens.

“If you’d like those bonds undone?” the woman suggests, lifting a foot to draw a knife out of her boot.

“Wouldn’t go amiss,” Zoë replies after a momentary hesitation. Ship this big, she’s still got nothing to gain doing anything brash, and her mystery buyer, she’s either dense or she knows it. Zoë opts for the latter. Woman like this is too smart for such back-berthed mistakes.

“Come with me. Have you eaten recently?”

“Can’t say I’m hungry.”

“Tea?”

Zoë scowls at the back of the woman’s head, trailing just a little behind her as they enter a more properly furnished part of the ship. Despite that all the parts look brand new, the decor’s old fashioned. It might feel warm and inviting if she weren’t here against her will, fineries and all. “No. Thank you,” she says with a little irony. The woman doesn’t pause. “You like antiques?” she asks, feeling more rhetorical than conversational, but this time, the woman turns to face her.

“You could say that,” she says, and she’s smiling again, small and tight. She lowers herself to a pricey chair behind a polished desk, and gestures to the seat across from her. “Please, sit,” she says, but her eyes are on a screen, where she taps out a few commands and smiles vaguely to herself. Zoë can only guess that the other ship has disconnected.

“I’d rather not,” she replies. She’s unwilling to cave to any more orders.

“Alright. Our guests are away,” she adds in confirmation of Zoë’s thoughts, but the conversational tone seems false and dark.

Really, this woman, she’s impenetrable, but not because she doesn’t give anything away - on the contrary, she gives away too much. Regret, pride. Patience, annoyance. Zoë distrusts her by default, but the story behind her eyes makes her a curiosity, like old age has crept in too soon. The hard set to her jaw gone, she looks less dangerous, more enigmatic, more winning despite the mask she wears. Zoë steels herself, standing upright, hands clasped behind her back.

“You’ve developed quite a reputation, you know.” The way she speaks, it reminds Zoë of Inara. More than that of the wealthy, the central worlds. Refined, intentionally.

“You mean to say I didn’t already have one?” she asks, glaring steadily at the seated woman, wanting better clues as to who she is.

“Your crew did. However, Captain Reynolds seems to be a bit better at flying under the radar in his day to day affairs, ironic as that is.”

“I reckon he’s got a whole crew to worry about. ‘Round these parts, there’s nobody but me to look out for.”

“And you don’t really intend to look out for yourself at all, I suppose.”

She jerks her chin at the other woman, knotting her fingers together a little more tightly behind her back, but stands firm. “Don’t conjure you know me, Miss. You got no idea.”

“On the contrary. I may not know you, but I understand you quite well.”

“ _Qù sǐ.*_ ”

“Charming.”

A long moment passes between them, and Zoë speaks first. “You understand me so well, you ought to know I got no intentions of bein’ any kind of slave.”

“I do,” she replies, and something in her eyes turns to a challenge while another something becomes sincerity.

Zoë wonders if her silence is bait, but she surrenders to it anyway. “You aim to tell me why you’re here, then? I don’t conjure you’re Alliance. Not the type. Ain’t asked enough questions yet, or made any threats. Besides that, you got that crew all funny. Made an impression.”

The woman’s look becomes pride again, and knowing. Her lips curve upward slightly, and Zoë scowls. “My name is Doctor Helen Magnus. You may call me Helen, if you like. And I assure you, I haven’t come to make you a slave; I’ve come to give you a second chance.”

“Had plenty of chances, Doctor; this ain’t the second," she says brusquely, addressing the woman by rank more out of habit than anything.

Somberness. The doctor doesn’t hold a look for long. “Of course it’s not - not really. But you have a limited view of this situation, Zoë.”

“ _Bì zuǐ**_ \- you ain’t got the right to tell me what I do and don’t know about this situation.”

“You want to die,” Magnus says, speaking over her without rising to anger. When Zoë stops to stare, she continues. “You’re too proud to kill yourself and too stubborn to go down without a fight, but everything inside of you _screams_ to let go. I’ve been there more than once. You left _Serenity_ out of grief and guilt and rage, and are now dangerously close to capture by what remains of the Alliance.” Zoë remains silent, dumbfounded, and Magnus continues with her voice lower in volume, but with just as rapt an audience. “But they won’t just kill you, Zoë; you and I both know them too well. There are still many people out there who would very much like to exact revenge on Captain Reynolds _and_ his crew. But not only _are_ they a crew, they have a ship and a will to live. Resourceful as you are, you don’t have any of that, and it’s made you very easy pickings. Not to mention the bounty on your head, considering your recent _exploits_. You’re very lucky I was so close; I got to you before these bounty hunters contacted the Alliance.”

It takes a moment for Zoë to break the following silence again. “And what exactly were you wantin’ from me, trackin’ me down like this?”

“You have a particular skill set that would be quite useful to me.”

“Well hell, at least you’re honest,” she spits, giving the unmoved woman a scathing look. “I already told you I ain’t gonna be nobody’s slave.” She means it. She _will_ kill herself before she becomes a slave.

“ _Paid_ labor,” Magnus emphasizes, finally gesturing to the chair again. Her eyes are tired now, behind the slight smile that rises in them again, like she knows she’s got Zoë pinned.

Still, Zoë sits - slowly, almost expecting it to be some kind of trap.

Magnus' smile broadens. “You and most of the Verse know about the Reavers now - their origins, why they are what they are. Or _were_. Very clever idea on your Captain’s part; effectively destroyed most of the Reaver population and your Alliance attackers at once. I do wish it hadn’t come to that though. There may yet be hope for those affected by the Pax.”

“How do you know about all that? Last I heard, they was tryin’ real hard to keep that hush-hush. Couldn’t have the world over knowin’ Alliance ships fell to a bunch of Reavers. And by the by, Reavers ain’t even human anymore. Not seein’ any hope for them myself.”

“I have my sources,” is airy, and doesn’t allow time for a response. But her tone can turn as quick as her expression, and when she starts again, she’s grave. “The point is, you are witness to three phenomena in human experimentation and genetics: two different outcomes of G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate and, of course, River Tam.” She gives her audience an arch look before adding, with barely a pause: “Yes, I do know that River and her brother sought refuge with _Serenity_ and her crew. She’s a fascinating case, if an incredibly morbid and unethical one - an attempt by the government to modify normal human beings to mimic traits found naturally in several different subspecies of abnormal humans.”

Zoë leans forward in her seat, tangling her fingers and leaning on her elbows. "Doctor Magnus, you ought to know, I ain't got a clue what you're talkin' about."

"Are you denying the existence of River and Simon Tam aboard your old ship, or seeking information about abnormals?"

"Don't much like stories myself," she supplies vaguely, but the Doctor impresses her just a little by seeing right through the guise.

"Good. I won't bore you with them. I don't deal in flights of fancy, Zoë. My business is scientific fact. And I'd like your help."

"Not so sure I can help you with that, seein' as I'm not much of a scientist either."

"I happen to be more interested in your previously demonstrated skills. Your physical capabilities. Your performance as a second in command. Your ability to collaborate with a leader and take command yourself when necessary. In short, I need a protege. Someone willing to learn, to travel, to track and hunt when necessary. To negotiate situations with confidence, but without undue violence. Someone with proven abilities as a leader and a fighter."

"Gruntwork," says Zoë, arching a brow.

"Equivalent to my own."

"And schoolin'."

Magnus laughs quietly at the dry comment, and Zoë finds herself won over a little by the genuine response. "You'll learn. Not all at once, but you are an intelligent woman. I believe you could play a vital part in the work I do."

Zoë frowns, considering, and Helen maintains silence, but Zoë knows she's watching her carefully, reading Zoë the same way Zoë's been trying to read her. After a long moment, she allows herself to relax, just a little. "What exactly _do_ you do, Doctor? Besides keepin' eyes on everything and everybody in the Verse?"

Helen's lips quirk upward again, as if she's been waiting for this moment since Zoë walked into the room. "I study the creatures who have had their existence refused by the rest of the Verse."

"Creatures. Like Reavers."

She half-nods, frowning a little. "Somewhat. Few abnormals are as recklessly dangerous as Reavers. Many need protection from humans lest they be destroyed unnecessarily. Some need rescuing from a fate the Alliance has forced upon them in the name of their own twisted brand of science.”

The way she speaks makes Zoë frown deeply at her. “Experiments,” she says. At Magnus’ nod, she adds: “Surely you’re not talkin’ about Reavers.”

“They were humans once.”

“Yeah, and they’re not now.”

“And what if I could rehabilitate them?" she asks, a certain level of passion entering her voice. "I have been hard at work for _years_ developing a cure for the disease that plagues them. Unfortunately, they are difficult to capture alive, so work has been slow.”

“Maybe that oughta tell you something. Like maybe they’re not worth it.”

The sudden look that comes across the woman’s face startles Zoë, veiled though it is. “And I thought you had more respect for human life than that.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, but them beasts is what put a harpoon through my husband’s chest,” Zoë says, careful to keep her voice level. “Or didn’t your sources tell you that? You want me to put other folks in danger to capture them monsters for the sake of your experiments, you’ve bought yourself the wrong woman.”

Magnus shakes her head. Zoë’s angry, but her anger’s always been cold, and she doesn’t miss the look of age that comes into the other woman’s face again, making her look haggard and worn. “I’ve destroyed my fair share of them too. We capture what we can, kill what we must.”

“And if they put innocent lives in danger, we don’t take chances?” We. She means to use the pronoun ironically in response to the doctor, but Magnus’ lips pull into a tight, somber smile.

“In the choice between Reaver and human, we save both if we are able, the human if we must decide.”

They’re silent again for a while, and again, it’s Zoë who speaks first, lowering her head to scrub at her face with her hands. “Got a real sick head, huntin’ _me_ down to help you save Reavers.”

“Saving Reavers isn’t the only task at hand, Zoë. Tracking them down, restoring their humanity if and when it is possible is a running goal, but there’s much more than Reavers in this universe.”

“You made mention of that.”

“I want your aid in the rest of it too. The Reavers are but a small project in the grand scheme of things. I need someone I can count on, in all of my work. Unless I’m sorely mistaken, you are the woman for that task, Zoë. I am usually right in selecting a team. Many years of experience tells me that.”

“You readin’ me, doctor? Been readin’ me since before you ever made my acquaintance?”

“You could say that.”

“Not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

“You’re reading me now.”

“Tryin’ to,” she confesses tersely. “Lotta secrets in you. Some of ‘em purposeful, some not so much. What I can’t figure is what makes you the way you are.”

Again, the smile comes, this time a little bitter. “Old age, I suppose.”

“Now doctor, you ain’t got but ten, fifteen years on me, and that’s a stretch.”

Her smile broadens, but her eyes grow darker. “Hardly. But that’s a story for another time.”

“I’d like to hear it now. Know what I’m gettin’ myself into, if you don’t mind. Wouldn’t want to run aground with a moonbrained captain.”

“You might think me moonbrained if I tell you.”

“Already conjure you’re a mite so. Try me.”

Magnus exhales swiftly, then cants her head to the side. “I’m seven hundred and eighty-one years old.”

Zoë watches her for a long moment, and then chuckles. “Got a sense of humor on you, anyhow.” When the doctor drops her head with a tight smile, Zoë considers her for a moment, troubled by the sincerity in her expression.

This time, Magnus breaks the stretch of silence. “You don’t have to come with me, Zoë. I’ve bought your freedom, and you can leave if you like. I won’t rescue you again if you should be captured, but I will give you a contact, should you change your mind before that occurs. I’ll even provide an escort back to _Serenity_ , if that’s what you want. _Or_ you can come with me now. You won’t ever have to think of this as a prison, and you’ll always be free to go at any time. And if you come now, and for whatever reason, I was wrong about your... _usefulness_ , you’ll have whatever protection I can provide, for as long as you require it, providing you do equal work to provide for your own safety. I won’t play nursemaid to a reckless woman.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Zoë replies suddenly before exhaling heavily, leaning back and examining Magnus for another long moment. She can’t help but feel like she’s been carefully manipulated to this point. But then, the offer may have promise, though it’s not all shiny, and she doesn’t think Magnus has lied at all. She knows too much; a liar would have concealed her goals concerning the Reavers. All other issues aside, this job offers purpose, outside of _Serenity._ The crew’s family, but the one piece of family that really mattered is gone, and the ship’s full enough of memories she doesn’t want to relive anymore, not now. She needs time and healing. Maybe this is her chance. “Don’t suppose there’s a power in the Verse could stop you,” she drawls, giving Helen a look torn between bittersweetness and humour.

“Not one,” Helen replies, with an unfathomable depth in her smile - faint in the curve of her lips, but bright in her eyes. Warm, inviting, encouraging, victorious, sad. All of it’s there - all of it in the quirk of her mouth and the gleam in her eyes, and then it’s gone. She takes a breath through her nose, exhales it purposefully, and her smile broadens, because she already knows. “Shall we begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> *Go to Hell  
> **Shut up
> 
> as usual, my thanks to angie (featherxquill) for her aid in editing this sucker


End file.
